


There Are No More Nights

by thesnadger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode 161
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnadger/pseuds/thesnadger
Summary: Martin sleeps. Jon does not. Spoilers for MAG 161.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 161





	There Are No More Nights

There is no rest in sleep, not anymore. Martin is curled up in bed, sweating, covers bunched around him, teeth grinding and quiet whimpers coming from his throat, trapped in the nightmares of a world ruled by fear.

Jon sits beside him helplessly. He’s tried to wake him so many times, but by now he knows he can’t. So he holds him tightly, strokes his head, tries to think of something soothing to say, something that might give his mind some ease. Even as he does so, he Knows with total certainty that none of it can reach where he is now. Jon is there while he’s awake, but in dreams Martin is still alone.

He can’t reach him, can’t sleep and suffer with him. All he can do is sit, hand moving numbly through Martin’s hair while he Sees every moment of his nightmares. Sees every horror that he can’t protect him from, witnesses his anguish and his fear. Seeing it breaks Jon’s heart, it truly does. But what’s worse - _so_ much worse - is there’s a tiny part of him that isn’t breaking. A part he would give anything to be rid of that’s just Watching the pain of this man that he loves because that’s what it does.

Finally, it’s over. Whether it’s a need of Martin’s body or a demand of the things that now rule reality, it’s been satisfied for now and he’s released into waking once more. Martin wakes with a cry, (as he always does now,) reaching out in confusion to push something away, and he sees Jon’s face in the dark. The dream fades, (though the feeling it left behind does not) and he remembers where he is.

Martin sees that the hand coming down to take his own is scarred and gentle, not twisted and sharp. The weight on the bed beside him is familiar, not crushing. And if there’s something in Jon’s eyes that feels wrong in a way he can’t put words to (when was the last time he blinked? A week ago?) there’s also love and sympathy and a deep, deep sorrow in them.

(And guilt. Can’t forget that. Can never forget that.)

Without speaking Martin sits up, shuddering, and leans into Jon. Jon’s arms curl around him and finally he can feel them. Martin presses himself into the small form of the man who a few short weeks ago told him there was more to life than surviving, breathes deeply and waits for the shaking to subside. Waits to calm down enough to pull himself together again. Jon is still muttering in his ear, and now he hears what he’s saying. It isn’t much, really. Just quiet reassurances, spoken with a gentle sincerity but without much hope. Things like “you’re safe,” and “I’m here.” And sometimes, “I’m sorry” spoken over and over until his voice grows hoarse. 

Martin hears how much regret is in those two words. And he knows Jon’s someplace dark, he needs someone to keep him from despair. In a moment Martin will take one more deep, deep breath. He’ll push down the lingering fear. He’ll straighten himself up, squeeze Jon’s hands, and try to bring a tiny bit of normalcy back. He’ll go to make tea and remember this time that there isn’t any, or try to reinforce the security of the safehouse even though Jon’s told him over and over it’s not boards and nails that keeps anything out. Maybe there’s not much he can do. Maybe there’s nothing at all he can do, but he’ll try.

For now, though, just for now he’ll be still and scared and quiet. He’ll hide his face against Jon’s sweater, and shiver, and make soft, pitiful sounds in the back of his throat. Jon will hold him and whisper reassuring words he doesn’t believe. And for all he’ll say that you can’t trust comfort anymore there will be, in that moment, a steadiness to his arms.


End file.
